


Asleep In The Sun

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Post-Kerberos Mission, shiro as odysseus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: “You never forgot about me?,” Lance smiles and moves to kneel above Shiro, bony knees parted by Shiro’s hips.“I could never.  Not even if I tried,” he says it like there’s no room for doubt.  And perhaps there isn’t.





	Asleep In The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something nice and fluffy for the amazing Mal ([blk-l](http://blk-l.tumblr.com)) since the first drabble I wrote was kinda _eh_ , and in the end this story ended up being less fluff and more sad OTL (mal, if you're reading this, i really really really really hope you like this /sobs)
> 
> I tried to proof read this on my own but please let me know if there are spelling mistakes (or any other kind of mistakes) that I should correct!

 

 

**Asleep In The Sun**

 

 

 The path ahead of him is one and opens into millions of possibilities.  Still, he’d walk them all if that meant he’d return to his lover’s side.  And he wants to return.  God, how he wants to return.

 He closes his eyes and lets the sea wind hit his face.  Salt on his lips, he blinks away the nostalgia and the memories tinted yellow by the passage of time.  He knows his partner will be waiting.  He knows it to be as certain as his own heartbeat was.  His partner will be waiting for as long as it takes for him to come back.

 The ocean is vast and it expands into all directions.

 It no longer makes him feel small.

 Now, now he just feels lost.  Waiting to be found.  Waiting to rebound to earth.

 

 Waves rock the boat he’s alone in gently.  The worst of the storm has passed and he has lost all his crew.  He mourns them with the rising sun and with the waning moon.  He mourns because it’s truly all he can do.  He prays, too.  Prays to find land.  Prays to find a way back to his lover’s arms.

 

 There are marvelous tales of warriors at war and of warriors that fall in fields of blood and spears.  Those tales are sung at feasts and banquets, those tales are ones he used to be protagonist of.  But such stories never tell the grey landscape of the trek back home.  They never talk about those who have fallen, those who died and will never come back to the houses that have seen their births.  Soil drank its fill of blood, and mother’s cries echoed into the cruelty of the night.

 He’s lucky to come back, he knows.  He’s lucky to even be alive.

 The sun is setting now as he looks at the horizon always too far away.  There’s a new gleam to the ocean and its ever blue color reminds him of his beloved’s eyes.  He misses those eyes washing over his tired and worn figure with love and understanding.  He craves to be in that big warm bed, to hold the one he cherishes the most against his chest, to give and receive all the kisses he’s been saving up for so long.

_ A bit more, _ he thinks.   _ Wait a bit more.  I’m coming home. _

 

 His boat reaches a shore he’s never been to.  He wants to cry and to kiss the sand.  He ends up doing both.

 At least he’s not stuck on the sea anymore.  At least he’s not confined to strict limits, at least now he can run.

 His tongue feels heavy inside his mouth.  He hasn’t talked in too long.  His own name is covered by a veil, by thick fog; he recognizes that as a bad sign, he needs to find someone, anyone, soon.  Come save me.  Come prove me I’m not alone anymore.

 So he walks, barefoot, malnourished, he walks because there’s really no other option for him to go through.  His legs hurt after a while, he has tried to stay in shape but obviously hadn’t come out successful out of his attempts at sea.

 Sand turns to green, green grass.  Tall trees loom over his head, birds sing up in the sky, but he doesn’t recognize their melodies.  He licks his lips.  He’s thirsty.

_ Home, _ he thinks.   _ I want to be home. _

  
  


 So when he finds a path, he follows it.  There must be gods aiding his feet and giving him strength to finish his journey, when he reaches the city he knows that everything was worth it.  He sets one foot into the landscape he used to know like the palm of his hand and everything stills around him.  He feels like a memory of the past that comes to haunt the present and taint the future, and maybe he is, or perhaps he isn’t and it’s all truly in his head.

 Murmurs arise, growing louder by the second, and he looks everywhere hoping to find the blue eyes he’s been dreaming of for so long.  Home.  He’s still not home.

 Until:

 

 “Shiro!,” that sweet voice he’d know everywhere screams and that’s all it takes to vanish the fog from his memories and mind.  Shiro.  Shiro, he’s Shiro, that’s the name the sea with its salt had tried to take away from him, turning him into Nobody.

 His heart mourns the Nobodies left behind.

 

 “Shiro!,” blue eyes bless his face and his body when that electric gaze falls upon them, and Shiro feels himself smiling.  His lover runs to him and holds his head caringly in his hands, cradling him, giving it the perfect place to rest.  “You are alive,” the beautiful man says, tears shimmering as they roll down brown cheeks, “I always knew it… you are alive, my Shiro, Shiro… you came back, I knew you would…”

 His tongue still feels heavy, but he’s just been saved and he needs to say it:

 “Home,” he whispers, closing his eyes, “I missed you”

 

—

 

 Cold.  He’s cold and trembling.  His arm feels foreign to his body.

 But at least he gets to rest.

 

—

 

 Shiro wakes up to soft sheets and a soft mattress.  His limbs feel heavy, heavier than they ever felt, and he has trouble opening his eyes.  When he does, though, the bright light of the room forces him to close them again, sending his hazy thoughts into a halt.

 “Hey,” a sweet voice says from somewhere on his right.  There’s a dissonance somewhere he fails to find.  “You woke up.”

 The affirmation makes Shiro grunt, once, before he props himself upwards, resting his weight on his forearms.  He blinks once, twice, as many times as he needs to get used to the white illumination.  Then he looks at the direction of the voice and smiles, seeing his lover sitting there, looking beautiful as ever.  Even after such a long time had passed.

 “Hey,” Shiro says, a lazy smile now spreading his lips as he wills away the remains of slumber, “how did I get here?”

 “Are you complaining?,” the other laughs, softly, through blue eyes a flash of an indescribable emotion erupting for a moment. “You fainted,” he adds after a second, head tilting to the side in contemplation, “I brought you here, to our bedroom.”

 “How long—”

 “A day,” he says, interrupting Shiro, the corners of his mouth curling downwards just slightly.  “I was… they said you had no serious wounds to be concerned about and that you are malnourished, yet I was—,” he lets his head fall forwards, brown hair casting shadows over his face.  He doesn’t sob though he wants to.

 When his beloved lets himself be seen again, Shiro feels his own heart aching.  Aching for the man sitting by his side, aching for the time lost between them, aching for better lives in which their promises would not reach a stagnant point and die.

 “Lance,” Shiro says, sitting up now and reaching out to place a careful hand on the other’s cheek, cradling it, “Oh Lance.  Come here,” his voice is a soft rumble as he accommodates to rest his back against the many pillows on the large marriage bed.

 And Lance follows his command that was never one, follows like a lost boat tries to break through the night with the aid of the light of the stars that are above and everywhere.  He doesn’t sob even though it’s written all over his face that he’s dying to, even as he drapes himself over Shiro’s side, head tucked on his shoulder, one hand over Shiro’s heart.

 Lance follows because there is no universe, no other version of the tales in which he wouldn’t.  Lance follows because Shiro is there, right by his side, and he has finally regained his center on earth.

 “I’m back,” Shiro whispers, closing his eyes once again, pressing loving kisses to the crown of Lance’s head, nuzzling his short hair, holding him close.

 “You are,” Lance replies, sniffling and fighting back the tears, “you are, love.  You came back a hero.  My hero.”

 

 Wind seeps through the small window and sunlight casts shadows of interesting shapes on the opposite wall.  How much time passes is unknown to either of them as they lay there, together, holding each other, engraving onto their souls that the other is alive.

 Shiro missed this.  Missed this feeling of finally being in the place he was born to be in, with the person he had been born to adore.

 It had killed them when they ended up separated because of the war.  Lance, currently injured at the time it had started, had been recruited to stay as part of the city’s defense while Shiro had left with his crew of brave warriors following his orders across the ocean, towards faraway lands, to faraway cities that had burned and drowned in their own blood.

 They had won.

 Yet why did it feel that he had lost more than what he could count?

  
  


 Something dark and vicious moving at the corner of his eye makes him tense and twist to his exposed side, already reaching for a weapon he did not have.  But there’s nobody else in the room except them and now Lance is stirring, sitting up slowly, a frown marring his features.

 “Shiro?,” he asks, but Shiro doesn’t turn to look at him.  “Shiro, what’s wrong?”

 He knows what he’s seen.

 He knows it to be true, so he’s standing without thinking about it any further, white sheets sliding with grace off of his moving form.  He walks up to the window and dares to peek outside.  There’s nothing suspicious he can see under the afternoon’s sun.

 “Shiro,” Lance says his name again, leaving the bed as well, standing there in all his beauty, completely naked.

 Not a single scar on his brown skin.

 “Weren’t you—,” Shiro has to clear his throat once after his voice cracks, dark eyes gazing at his lover’s form before going back to examining the bedroom, “weren’t you injured? On the leg?”

 Lance doesn’t say anything for a while.  It feels like forever as the two of them stand there, Shiro’s skin feeling clammy and sticky with sweat, the sensation of bugs crawling all over his arms and legs never leaving.  He shakes from time to time, as if trying to pry away unwanted hands from grabbing him and holding him down.  No, this isn’t what he wants.  This isn’t what he—

 “Shiro,” Lance breathes out his name like it’s a prayer only meant for the two of them to hear, and suddenly the room stops spinning.  Shiro clings onto the image of his lover with all his power and his desperate hopes.  “Shiro, come here.”

 And he does.  He stumbles his way towards Lance like he stumbled on the path that led him back home.  He goes where Lance is because there’s no life in which he wouldn’t, there’s no version of himself that would say no to such request.  Not when Lance is his reason to stay alive.  His reason to fight, his beacon of light through all the darkness that encompasses him.

 Lance smiles understandingly and wraps his arms around his waist when Shiro is close enough to do so.  The contact is a welcome distraction from the millions of prickling sensations stabbing at his skin and nerves.  He feels relieved in ways he hadn’t felt in so long.  Closing his eyes once more, Shiro leans down and presses a firm kiss on Lance’s lips, naked bodies flushed even closer.

 Lance’s soft giggling is a sound Shiro chooses to drown in.  They kiss and the action is enough to push the ominous shadows away from their realm that only admits two.  They kiss over and over again, never having enough of each other, until their lips are red and swollen, and then they both smile, the two of them a little breathless.  Lance untangles his arms from around Shiro’s waist to begin tracing the scars littering all over his broad chest, blue eyes shining with raw love and acceptance.  A knot Shiro didn’t know he had untangles at the action, his smile turning wider, and he holds one of Lance’s hands in his own, raising it to his mouth so he could leave quick kisses over the knuckles.  There are sparks coming to life whenever they look into each other’s eyes.  It brings joy to their heavy and well worn hearts.

 “While I was there, fighting,” Shiro says, this time taking a step towards their large bed, never letting go of Lance’s hand, “and during my time lost at sea...,” he continues talking as they both fall on the mattress, and Shiro takes a moment to adore the blush spreading across brown cheeks.  “During all that, you were always on my mind.”

 “You never forgot about me?,” Lance smiles and moves to kneel above Shiro, bony knees parted by Shiro’s hips.

 “I could never.  Not even if I tried,” he says it like there’s no room for doubt.  And perhaps there isn’t.

 “Sounds ominous,” Lance hums as he begins rolling his hips, cheeks adorably flushed.  

 The friction on his groin was more than appreciated by Shiro, and he lifts his hips as well, pressing back into the tantalizing contact.  His broad hands move to hold onto Lance’s slim waist, thumbs caressing the expand of bare skin they could reach.  Balancing each other, they continue dancing lazily on the sheets, bodies undulating, hips swaying softly.  Lance sighs, a small grin on his lips, and grounds down on Shiro a little harder, satisfaction obvious in his expression as electric blue eyes observe his reaction.

 “Lance,” Shiro groans before he flips them around, reveling in the startled squeak the action pulled from his lover as he fell atop the rumpled sheets, “I need you.”

 “Well, here I am,” Lance replies, more breathless than before, arching his back so he could press himself against the other, “I’m all yours.”

 “No, no,” he hears himself almost like an outsider to the situation, “you don’t understand.  Lance, Lance, I—”

 “Takashi,” he says, cradling Shiro’s face in his hands.  Was Shiro’s mind playing tricks on him, or were those blood splatters on the walls? “Takashi,” Lance insists, pulling him back into their moment, “it’s alright.  Everything is alright.  I’m here now.  With you.”

 It’s raw desperation what makes Shiro dive in for another kiss.  His lips are searing against Lance’s mouth, and he doesn’t hold back, greedily swallowing the small noises his lover gifted him with.  His hands are probably too rough and calloused on that lovely and smooth bronze skin he’s dreamt of so many times, but it’s like he’s been possessed and he cannot will himself to move any slower.  And Lance is right there, meeting him halfway, just as needy, just as desperate.  Their kiss turning sloppy, tendrils of saliva run down the corner of Lance’s mouth, but neither care about it.

 Shiro presses his hips down against Lance’s as he blindly reaches towards the small table at the side of the bed, not wanting to ever stop kissing.  His fingertips brush against one of the sides of the bowl he somehow knows is there.  Lance shifts minutely underneath him before he wraps his long and beautiful legs around Shiro’s hips.

 “Please,” Lance whines brokenly against Shiro’s mouth as they take a moment to catch their breaths, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen, “please, Shiro, I miss you, please—”

 “Lance,” Shiro says in a reverent whisper, fighting his urge to never pull away as he moves to dip his fingers inside the bowl until they were completely coated in oil.  “A bit more, wait a bit more.”

 

 The feeling of never wanting the moment to end is on the forefront of Shiro’s mind as he circles the sensitive skin around Lance’s entrance and over the furled edges of the rim before he presses inside it, hungry eyes devouring his lover’s reactions.  It’s been so long and it feels so right… he never wants to spend a single day apart from Lance anymore.

 After pushing the entire finger inside, a second one soon follows, and a third, and Shiro doesn’t find anything weird in how Lance seems to be practically ready to take him right then and there.  He continues fingering him, dragging out the moment, watching Lance writhe atop the sheets and moan wantonly whenever Shiro’s fingertips brush his prostate.  Pleas for more echo throughout the room, successfully drowning the sound of footsteps, of rustling robes, blocking out the shadows passing by and taking over the entirety of the adjacent wall.

 Pulling his fingers out, Shiro grunts as he dips his fingers in the oil again before spreading it all over his erection.  The sounds from outside are getting louder with each second that passes and all he wants to do is make them go away.  Lance whines in need and squeezes Shiro’s sides with his knees, trying to make him hurry.  A strange sense of not having much time left washes over his thoughts and it’s what finally makes him give in to his urges, slowly but steadily entering Lance, both their bodies washed over in heat as they sang out in pleasure.

 Had it ever felt this good, before?

 

 “Shiro,” Lance breathes out, whimpering, letting his head fall backwards and into the pillows, hips moving almost like they had a mind of their own, “fuck, Shiro—”

 “I love you,” he says through the knot in his throat, strong arms circling Lance’s waist once more and bringing them closer in a tight embrace, “I love you, I love you, I—”

 “Shiro!,” Lance sobs, and their bodies are moving in tandem, perfectly synchronized.  The edges of his vision are blurring out, and it makes Shiro’s desperation grow.  “God, Shiro—”

 “I’m here,” his voice breaks at that, but he doesn’t stop, “I’m here, I never left, Lance—”

 

 

 

 The heavy sound of boots stomping past the door wake him up.

 His worn out shirt is sticking to his back and his hair is plastered to his forehead; he’s drenched in sweat and distantly he realizes he’s painfully hard in his pants.

 Opening his eyes, the first thing he sees is the dark grey ceiling of his cell.  His arm still hurts from when the druids implanted the new prosthetic on him.  There are no other noises now but the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat behind his ears and his harsh breathing as he forces himself to calm down.  He lifts his human hand to pinch at the corner of his eyes as panic floods inside his chest, seizing his lungs and stomach.

 

 A dream.  That had been a dream.

 

 Shiro’s still shaking as he lowers his hand once more after a moment to rest it on his chest.  His fingertips fall on the hardcover of a book that’s lying there.  Lifting it up to inspect it, he lets his eyes trace over every mark that covered it.  The setting of the dream was beginning to make sense now, considering what he had been reading before falling asleep.

 In big bold letters it said  _ The Odyssey _ .  It had been the book Samuel Holt had carried with him to the mission and, for some reason, their captors had allowed Shiro the small mercy of giving him the book.  How many times had he read it, now?  He could no longer remember.

 Placing it on his chest again, he returned to staring at the ceiling, frowning.  He had dreamt of Lance.  Sweet Lance, who by now could believe him to be dead… after all, nobody had ever returned from Kerberos...

 God, how he craved to embrace him again.  It broke his heart to think how devastated Lance might be feeling at the moment.  It broke his heart to have no way of telling if their anniversary had passed or not.  It was hard to keep track of the months and days, but Shiro wishes he had tried harder to do so.

 

 At least he could comfort himself with the memory of his boyfriend.

 There was no way he could ever forget him… there was nothing that could be done to him that would make him forget.

_  I’ll come back _ , Shiro thinks, still frowning.   _ I know it’s selfish, but please wait for me _ .

 

 

—

 

 

 And Lance did wait.

 And Shiro came back.

 But he didn’t remember.

 

°°

**Author's Note:**

> I know there surely are many stories that talk about Lance and Shiro knowing each other before the Kerberos mission ([this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10491786) was a great inspiration for this one! Check it out!!), but I didn't remember reading any of them from a Shiro pov... so I tried to give it a go,,, I'm not sure how it turned out,,
> 
> It gives a new perspective on Shiro saying "Lance, right?" and offering his hand~ as well as it adds new meanings to Lance's expression!
> 
> Poor guys. I wish they could be happy
> 
>   
> 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://wajjs.tumblr.com)


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